Lionel was as tall and fair as his father, but lacked his energy and his force of character. He was dressed as little like a clergyman as possible. “I’m told he’s dying,” answered the Canon, gravely. “He’s been out of health for a long time, and I cannot help thinking that when the end comes it will be a happy release.” “I met him once and thought him a very brilliant man,” remarked Lady Sophia. “Andover?” cried the Canon, with surprise, throwing himself back in his chair. “My dear Sophia! I know he had a certain reputation for learning, but _I_ never had any great opinion of it.” Lady Sophia for all reply pursed her lips. She exchanged a glance with Lord Spratte. “Of course I am the last person to say anything against a man who stands on the threshold of eternity,” added the Canon. “But between ourselves, if the truth _must_ be told--he was nothing more than a doddering old idiot. And a man of no family.” Than this, in Theodore Spratte’s judgment, nothing could be said more utterly disparaging. “I wonder who’ll succeed him,” said Lionel, thoughtfully. “I really don’t know who there is with any great claim upon the Government.” He met his brother’s bantering smile, and quick to catch its meaning, answered without hesitation. “To tell you the truth, Thomas, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if Lord Stonehenge offered the bishopric to me.” “You’d look rather a toff in leggings,” observed the other. “Wouldn’t he, Sophia?” Lady Sophia gave the Canon an inquiring stare. “My dear Tommy, I’ve not seen his legs for forty years.” “I think this is hardly a matter upon which you should exercise your humour, my dear,” retorted the Canon, with a twinkle in his eye. “Well, I hope you will accept no bishopric until you’ve made quite sure that the golf-links are beyond reproach,” said Lord Spratte. “I’ll tell Lord Stonehenge that an eighteen-hole course is a _sine qua non_ of my elevation to the Episcopacy,” retorted the Canon, ironically.